The Devil May Cry Chronicles
by Chris Lozinski
Summary: Book I: Blood Mountain Dante meets a mysterious old sorcerer and soon learns that two sacrifices are needed in order to end the evils that dwell in Blood Mountain: his brother Vergil, along with his posessed Father, the Legandary Dark Knight Sparda. R


**The Devil May Cry Chronicles**

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**Book I: Blood Mountain**

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Author's Note: I was inspired to write this story because over the past few months, I have noticed the various complaints regarding all of the 'Mary-Sue' and 'Love' stories. Not to put anyone down, however I do tend to agree that this section is getting a little saturated with the same kind of stories. So, this is not intended to discredit any other writers, but Devil May Cry needs, and has always had some sort of diversity, so I don't mind of you like it or hate it, but I had to write something different that what everyone else was writing. Although this story is not rated M, I would not recommend reading it if violence and gore bother you. Then again, this is Devil May Cry, is it not?

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**Chapter I:**

Darkness…darkness…darkness….

The only thing that existed within his world at this very moment was darkness. With, of course, the ever-present screams of the ones lying beneath him.

The ones dying slowly underneath his feet….

Finally, as if hopeful to escape the darkness, he opened his eyes and exhaled coldly. The once green hills were blanketed with a thick layer of crackling fire. The once pearl-blue sky was now torn apart by the charcoal black and wild purple clouds.

The once leafy trees were now dead with various body parts strewn across the trunk and high branches; some human, some…not.

He dropped to his knees and harshly gripped the uneasy terrain underneath him and began to blink heavily over and over, as if to rid his mind of the evil he was thrown into.

But he knew, as well as anyone else who had come before him, there was no end to the death.

There was no end to the screaming.

There was no end to the suffering….

The screams grew louder as a warming sensation covered his right thumb. Glancing down slowly, he noticed that as he fell, he had managed to impale it through the eye of the nearest human man living among the pile of living and dead creatures. He thought for a moment that the man his hand exploded into looked familiar to him….

His eyes widened for a moment as his hands slowly gripped a nearby blade lying half-burnt in the grass. Without hesitation, he thrust the battered blade into the throat of the man lying underneath him. A single thick stream of bright red blood quickly shot out of the man's throat and onto his face.

He made no effort to wipe it from his eyes. The screaming had stopped. If he were to die on these grounds, he would take satisfaction in knowing he took one more soul before the unspeakable horrors of the hills had their chance.

After clutching his ribs for a second, the man rose, still exhaling, still blowing back and forth the silvery-white hair that dangled in front of his blood-soaked hands.

The half-mad warrior looked around slowly for one of his many weapons, but soon discovered that they would all be lost among the endless fields of broken bodies and impaled humans strewn throughout the hills.

Though the deaths must have numbered somewhere in the high thousands, the battle raged on. It seemed that in these hills, it would never stop.

He looked down at his own hands and noticed that he might not even be able to grip his weapons due to the dripping blood covering their every inch. Had he killed that many warriors?

Had he taken that many souls?

How many were innocent? How many were deserving? How many of them did he know to be on his side? Soon realizing that he could quite possibly bathe in the blood of those that had fallen before him, he broke out into a sick laughter that echoed throughout the hills.

His mission was still clear….

He took step after step, cracking open the skulls and bones of fallen warriors who fought just hours before him before he broke into a sprint.

He could see it now…in full view….the jagged black and charcoal Cliffside of the terrifying splinter of rock that seemed to resemble the size of a small planet.

Blood Mountain was in full view.

But before he could travel any further he heard the voice in his head once again.

"I have brought you this far. Now you will fall far beyond the Realms of this Universe….this is the end…Son of Sparda."

He once again dropped to his knees and clutched his skull, ripping out some of the long strands of white hair and scraping his broken ashen body with his fingernails.

The earth beneath him began to rumble and shake as the bodies in the high trees began to fall all around him.

His skin began to rip from its' bones and his blood soon added to the hills. Hid fingernails ripped themselves out of their sockets as he half-pushed his thumbs through his own eyes.

He let out a brutal scream that shook the very earth itself.

The screaming and the fire came to a halt.

No noise could be heard except for his own uneasy breathing as he removed his hands from his skull.

"Welcome to my World."

And with those words, the universe split apart….

…The man woke himself with a loud scream. He bolted upright as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. Drenched in sweat, he covered his face with his hands as he trembled.

It was the dream again.

The same dream that had not allowed him to sleep at night.

The same dream he had for the past month.

But never before had it been that severe. Never before had he gone that far across the hills.

Though the dream was thought to be pointless, it still intrigued him. Again, he played the same question in his mind over and over….

"What was Blood Mountain?"

Asking himself the question had become a sick game to him, as he questioned the significance of the mountain to himself every waking moment before sleep took him.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Dante rose from his sheets and sauntered over to the end of the dark room to the large ornament in the corner.

It was a Demon Statue, carved from the old world, but it better served him as a liquor cabinet.

Dante removed the middle of the statue and threw it over to the other side of his bed. He gripped the bottle of Whiskey and grabbed a shot glass from the Demon's mouth.

In a fit of frustration, he pitched the shot glass to the opposite wall. It smashed into a thousand pieces. Dante took up the bottle and swigged long and hard, as if it were his last drink.

Before he could realize it, he had hit he bottom of the bottle. He set the empty bottle on the head of the Demon. "There you go, Gabe, a new hat," he said, turning away from the statue apparently named 'Gabriel.'

Dante tried to shake the images from his mind as he left the room and slowly descended the stairs of his Sanctuary. He wasn't sure how much longer the nightmares would last or how soon it would be before he discovered the significance of Blood Mountain. What he was sure of, however, was that he needed another drink…and fast.

As he reached the bottom of the set of stairs, he glared curiously at the doorway of his office, as it was glowing an unusual hue of misty green. He blinked heavily, then looked again.

The mist was gone.

Dante shook his head and discarded the door, naturally assuming he had imagined the glowing light. He slowly approached the giant mirror in his front office and tied his white hair back into a ponytail. Soon after, he reached for his last bottle of whiskey…and soon realized it was out of its usual place.

His eyes widened as he glanced around the front entrance room sharply.

The dreams did not frighten him as much as running out of alcohol….

Dante soon caught sight of the half-empty bottle and grabbed it. He cracked it open and grinned slightly, taking a long swig. He wiped his mouth clean and coughed a little.

'Maybe I should drink until I pass out?" he thought to himself. "Maybe that would prevent another night of horror."

Taking a long sigh, Dante once again tried to clear his mind of the occupying horrors as he dragged his tired body up the dark narrow staircase the far left corner of the room.

As long as he could get some sleep, he would feel the least bit energetic.

"Even an hour," he thought as he fell back onto his bed and rested his head gently against his pillow. He yawned and thought no more of the Mountain, but rather, of how quickly the drink in his hand was once again dissolving.

Before Dante drifted once again back into an uneasy slumber, an uneasy feeling overcame him, making him think twice about the glowing misty green sphere at his door….

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Author's Note: Once again, this story is not meant to insult other writers, as I would never intend to, I just tend to agree with such writers as Kikoken about matters such as this one. Like always, please R&R.


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